


Short shorts

by CyberjenicPanda



Category: House M.D.
Genre: American underwear, Betting, Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, One of House's many bets, Short Shorts, Shorts, Shorts (Clothing), author made everyone a little gay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-22
Updated: 2018-06-22
Packaged: 2019-05-26 21:31:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15009863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CyberjenicPanda/pseuds/CyberjenicPanda
Summary: House's bets never go right, except for when they do. Hilariously. Alternative title: How little is Chase willingly to wear for a fifty?





	Short shorts

"Chase, were you wearing you  _ short _ shorts, again?" House asked vindictively, leaning forward on his cane. As if on cue everyone’s minds simultaneously jumped back to that one glorious summer day...   
  
Chase walked as quickly as he could across the cavernous lobby, keeping his head down as low as possible in the hopes no one would notice, but of course, everyone did. People were gasping, fainting, nurses started swooning, and normally presumed straight guys started blushing furiously. Cuddy glanced up from the file House was supposed to be looking over through the clinic doors and couldn't help as her jaw fell to the floor, and she suddenly felt very hot under the collar. 

"Dr. Chase?..." she muttered, stumbling a bit, pushing her way through the double glass doors out to the main lobby, nurses stopping to admire the view of the Aussie's golden legs, although from afar, still somewhat wary of the dean and her almost famous temper. Chase glanced up, floppy hair springing a bit, beet red at being caught by the dean of medicine in pretty much the equivalent of American underwear. 

"I-I..." he stammered out elegantly before stumbling, his feet getting caught on one another, and rushing over to the elevator slamming the fourth floor button and hitting the close doors pusher repeatedly, all the nurses leaning sideways and craning their necks as the doors closed.    
  
He sighed, closing his eyes and leaning against the wall, gradually feeling his face return to its normal colour as the elevator crawled upwards. After what seemed like only a second after the elevator got moving it shuddered to a stop.  _ Oh no _ . He only had a moment to dread who was going to come through the doors when Wilson, dress suit smart and pressed, strolled in. 

"Hi," he greeted simply, a cheerful tone in his voice, glancing at Chase strolling until coming to a stop to his right. The elevator doors creaked shut, resuming its meandering pace upwards. Not even a second later Wilson froze doing a double take looking at Chase in the eyes, glancing quickly down, only for a second, but long enough. Wilson quickly went a colour only a little less violent than Chase had been a few minutes ago. 

"Uh-uh, h-how are you?" he ground out looking everywhere except at Chase, probably in fear of accidentally glancing down. 

"G-good," Chase finally got out after his brain caught up with him. 

"Okay," Wilson replied back tersely, back ramrod straight, arms firmly placed against his sides, eyes fixed on a spot dead ahead. Chase looked down shuffling his feet awkwardly, Wilson having not moved a single muscle since the forced exchange. The elevator dinged, signalling its arrival at the instructed floor, almost reluctantly opening the doors as if wanting to keep the awkward air in for as long as possible. As soon as the gap was wide enough for a man to slip through Wilson bolted through the doors, taking off at pace that rivalled Bolt's, although still somehow passing it off convincingly as walking. Chase stared dumbstruck after Wilson's quickly retreating back before snapping out of his stupor, taking a hesitant step forward, poking his head out of the elevator, bringing his hand up to stop the door from closing prematurely on him. Glancing left and right to make sure the coast was clear he took off at a sprint towards the glass doors of safety, also known as the diagnostics department. Running past House's currently empty office, over-sized red and grey tennis ball firmly in its usual spot, and dashing into the bigger, meeting half of the two glass panelled rooms, closing the door hurriedly behind him, leaning against it and clamping his eyes shut, chest rising and falling quickly.    
  
After taking note of the dead silence for a second Chase reopened his eyes to face his boss and team. House was looking at him darkly, a broad, sadistic tinged grin gracing his face, leaning forward on his ever present cane towards Chase. The next person he notices is Cameron, and, well, her eyes just pretty much scream do-me, setting them to maximum dreaminess. Had she not been sitting in a chair she probably would have fallen to ground she was swooning that hard, mouth slightly agape, staring not at his eyes but rather his more visible than most often legs. Foreman was the last person he noticed, probably because he was the least obvious, with only both his eyebrows raised in disbelief, a mirthful smile plastered onto his mouth, giving him a 'seriously?' look, snickering to himself over Chase's predicament. 

"Huh, well, didn't think you'd actually do it." House smirked, tilting his head to one side. Chase leaned away from the glass wall, finding enough strength return back to his limbs to no longer need support. 

"I said I would, easiest 50 bucks I ever made," he says, a somewhat annoyed tinge to his voice. House shrugged lazily, face contorting downwards somewhat. 

"Never said you wouldn't, just didn't bet on it." He takes two limp-y sauntering strides over to Chase, stopping just short, towering over him, looking at him inquisitively, yet with a sense of power Chase couldn't hope to match. However, Chase still raised his eyes to meet him dead on. House's eyes narrowed ever so slightly at the blatant display of defiance before startling him and everyone else in the room out of the silent and awkward power play with a loud announcement of "To the winner, go the spoils", before reaching into his pocket theatrically and lavishly pulling out a paper 50 and holding it out flat in his palm. Chase glanced down briefly at the offering, bringing his eyes back up before snatching it off his open palm. 

As soon as the note left his possession House spun around and hobble-swaggered his way back over to the board, his trusty cane helping his way over. As soon as he got there he picked the cane up and looped the handle over the top of the whiteboard, deftly picking up one of his precious white board markers and writing a depressingly short list of symptoms on the board, reading them out loud as he wrote, "sweating, fever, muscles aches, go." 

"Malaria?" Foreman shoots. 

"No blood in the stool," House dismisses, taking this as his cue to sit down. He does so, pressing his knees firmly together, ignoring the physical discomfort, trying to keep Cameron from staring at him. Eventually he looked up and met her in the eyes, she promptly blushed and turned her head away. 

"If you two are finished your soul-gazing," House interrupted them, looking at the two frustratedly and gesturing impatiently at the board. "Dying person!" he said by way of explanation. He pointed at Foreman. "He's the only one  _ kind of _ doing his job right now." Foreman crossed his arms and glared at the very House-like insult, but there was no bite behind the words and so he just huffed in mild annoyance. House turned back to Chase looking at him expectantly, "Well?..." he asked, looking from him and back to the board comically as if he needed help remembering what it was they were doing. Chase glanced at the board taking in the not very descriptive symptoms. 

"Hypothyroidism?" he suggested.

"Not bad, but try again," House countered. He started again. 

"Okay then, well what about..." 


End file.
